


Stark Industries’ Annual Charity Gala

by azariastromsis



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Dancing, F/M, Fancy Gowns, Happy!Team, Hydra what Hydra?, Party~
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-13
Updated: 2014-05-13
Packaged: 2018-01-24 14:18:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,290
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1608191
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/azariastromsis/pseuds/azariastromsis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She threw back her head and laughed and Grant grinned at her, ignoring the looks that were being thrown their way, ignoring the urge to pull her into his arms. </p><p>God it was really hard keeping this secret. </p><p>And Steve Roger’s arm was still around Jemma’s waist.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stark Industries’ Annual Charity Gala

**Author's Note:**

> Written because this is how I cope with Hydra!Ward - happy times with a happy team. Also, I wanted to throw them in pretty clothes. 
> 
> Unbeta-d, so any mistakes are my own.
> 
> Hover for translations.

“She’s on a first name basis with Captain America?”

“Hm?”

Grant turned away from a fellow Bruins fan (who knew in Southern California?) and looked over at Skye, who was holding a glass of champagne and gazing awestruck at Captain America.

“Jemma,” Skye said breathlessly. “Jemma called Captain America Steve.”

Grant raised an eyebrow and glanced over at Jemma, who was standing next to Captain America, Tony Stark, and Bruce Banner, the four of the chatting companionably. Well, it wasn’t so much chatting as Bruce and Jemma eagerly talking with Tony bursting in every once and a while, waving his hands, and Captain America just looking happy, sipping his drink occasionally.

“And?”

Skye gave him a flat look. “Would you call Captain America Steve?”

“No, if I didn’t know him.”

“She knows him,” Skye said, turning back towars them. “I mean – look! She just hugged him! And that’s not a ‘I just met you hug’ that’s a ‘We know each other’ hug.”

Grant narrowed his eyes and drained the rest of his champagne. He growled when Captain America’s arm didn’t move from its spot on Jemma’s waist.

“Did you just growl?”

Grant scoffed. “No.”

Stark Industries’ Annual Charity Gala was in full swing and somehow, Grant actually didn’t want to know quite how Coulson had swung it, but their entire team had been personally invited by Tony Stark himself. He had called the Bus one day last week – and by called, Grant meant he had overtaken the Bus in the suit while the Bus was in the air and forced himself inside – and talked to Coulson for five minutes – and by talked, Grant meant he had yelled at Coulson for five minutes, mainly about how he thought he was dead and how he was an asshole but Coulson somehow got talking about Pepper and the gala and Tony had turned around and asked them if they wanted to come and Skye had jokingly(?) said yes – and just like that they were going to a black tie charity gala for free. Tony was even covering for their tuxes and dresses.

Well Grant wasn’t going to turn down a new tux. And since they just happened to be over Rome at that time, May had set them down close to the city and they had all gone shopping (Grant refused to admit to himself that he enjoyed it) and come back to the Bus five hours later, all with suit and dress bags in hand, the women carrying bags with shoes and jewelry.

It was only after they’d arrived that they realized that half of S.H.I.E.L.D and all the Avengers were in attendance.

Coulson and May both appeared in their element, smiling and nodding at people as they passed, the pair of them going towards the dance floor which was dead. Of course, as soon as they got on it, it came alive as they started doing some dance that Grant had never seen before without music. It had actually taken a few moments before the musicians caught up to them and now it was packed.

Fitz seemed star-struck when a few scientists, probably from Stark Industries’ R&D department, came up to him enthusiastically, introducing themselves and shaking his hand, pulling him into a debate over something or other. He had quickly been swallowed up by other engineers and scientists who formed a wall around him, keeping him from Grant’s sight. Every once in a while, he would hear some sort of exclamation from the group, usually followed by a loud laugh in the Scottish brogue he had come to know.

Jemma was waylaid as soon as they stepped inside the ballroom by Captain America, who had picked her up in a bear hug and twirled her around. He had set a breathless biochemist on the ground and then escorted her to the buffet table, the two of them seeming to pick up on a conversation that had never been finished. Jemma immediately launched into using hand gestures and Captain America’s hand had settled on the small of her back, head bent to compensate for their height difference.

Grant tried to pretend that he hadn’t seen this. He, on the other hand, had stepped through the doors, taken stock of the room, and sighed, immediately grabbing a flute of champagne before making his way over to a cluster of field agents. Skye had trailed along uncertainly behind him, every few moments touching her hair and fidgeting with her dress.

“Stop it,” Grant said, shoving a glass into her hand. “You look fine.”

She did look fine. The not yet field agent – oh how Grant loved rubbing that in her face – had chosen a knee-length silk cocktail dress in crimson. It also had no back. Her arms were fully covered by loose silk sleeves that were closed at her wrist, thankfully prevented her from dragging them in the food, which she definitely would have done if they were open. The skirt was really big and make of the same floaty, silky material as the rest of the dress and every time Skye turned to talked to someone or grab more food, since she insisted on staying glued to his side for some reason (it was an odd time for her to suddenly become shy) it hit him.

“Fine? You’re really just going to tell me I’m fine?”

Grant shrugged. “Your hair looks nice.”

She had straightened it and done some weird braid thing that wrapped around part of her head. It was different. A good different, but different.

Skye looked unimpressed.

“You have nice shoes?”

They were red and really tall and Grant thought he remembered something about Choo. Johnny Choo? Jimmy Choo? He didn’t really care.

“Seriously? Do you know how to talk to women at all? How the hell do you get laid? No – how the hell did you get May to sleep with you?”

Grant gave her the Level 7 glare. It partly worked in that it got her to shut up but it also didn’t work in that she was still looking at him for an answer.

“You really think I’m going to tell you?”

“May will.”

Grant laughed.

“What!” Skye grabbed an asparagus spear wrapped in bacon off of the tray of a passing waiter. “You don’t believe me? You should try this, by the way. It’s fabulous.”

“Well, you’d have to get May alone for you do that, and it doesn’t look like she’s going anywhere, does it?”

Skye glanced over to the dance floor, where May and Coulson were still dancing. They had reached the point where they had stopped actually dancing and were just swaying. Every time they turned, the long slit of her black dress could be seen, showing all of the long legs of Melinda May. They weren’t the only ones looking. Her hair was up, showing the long length of her neck, and her shoes brought her just about even with Coulson.

“We’ve been here for two hours and they’ve yet to separate.”

“God, I just want them to make out.”

“For once,” Grant said, “I have to agree.”

“Agree with what?”

Grant turned and grinned, handing his glass to a startled Skye who fumbled with it. “Coulson and May need to make out now.”

“Well, you’ll hear no arguments from me.”  

His former S.O. was already pulling him in for a hug, one Grant was happy to return. “How are you?” He said as he pulled away. “I haven’t seen you since Brussels.”

Clint shrugged. “Eh, you know how it is. I have Tasha, if I’m ever in trouble.”

“Which happens more often than not,” Grant said, taking his glass back.

Clint sighed. “I only have like five new scars if that’s what you mean. I should be asking you the same question? How many times have you been shot since you’ve joined Coulson’s team? And how many planes have you jumped out of?”

Grant smiled and Clint shook his head, turning his attention to Skye. “I used to be Grant’s S.O. Clint Barton.”

Skye, eyes wide, accepted Clint’s outstretched hand.

“Skye. It’s a pleasure, sir.”

“She had a thing about the Avengers,” Grant said, smirking around his glass. “And don’t even try to deny it. You’ve been eyeing Thor all night.”

Clint said, “Well you’re outta luck. He and Jane just left.”

“Yeah,” Skye said, grabbing another passing bit of food. “Grant laughed at me when they left.”

“You should have just talked to him!”

“I can’t! He’s Thor! It’s like just walking up to Captain America and calling him Steve.”

“And we’re back to this.”

Clint shrugged, stuffing his hands in his pockets. “He could care less what people call him. But, if you’re really that nervous, I could introduce you.”

Skye was already moving. They slowly trailed after her.

Clint shot him a shit-eating grin. “That’s your rookie?”

Grant sighed. He knew what was coming. “Yeah.”

“You totally deserve this.” He started laughing. “After all the shit you put Tasha and I through, you deserve this so much.”

“Where is my step-S.O. anyways?”

“Over by Pepper,” Clint said, “she’s trying to corral Tony but he’s with Bruce and you know how that goes.”

Grant nodded. “I work with FitzSimmons. It’s hard to escape.”

“Where are they anyways? I thought Tony said he invited your whole team and I’ve already talked to May and Coulson. I wanna meet the infamous duo.”

“Fitz is over there, behind the barricade of science.”

They had overtaken a corner at this point. Chairs had somehow, someway, appeared and they had either dragged tables out of the storage closet or sweet-talked one of the waiters, because they had hijacked a buffet table and the table cloth. The food was spread out over the tables and they were drawing on the table cloths.

“He’s the one in the middle standing on the chair demonstrating what I think is the proper technique to use a light saber. And Simmons is with the Captain.”

“Jemma?” Clint’s tone was curious, but affectionate.

Grant froze. “You know her?”

“She was called in when they found Captain in ice. I was also called in, for God knows what reason. I never learned her last name, just that she’s a helluva lot smarter than me and can drink me under the table.”

“Good to know,” Grant said.

Their appearance went by unnoticed. Skye hadn’t ended up needing Clint after all, utilizing Jemma to segue into a conversation with the Captain. Tony and Bruce had wandered off when Skye appeared, taking Jemma’s attention with it. Captain America’s hand was still on Jemma’s back. Grant was this close saying something when Clint shoved another glass of champagne into his hand, taking his empty.

He almost didn’t hear him say, “They’ll get her one day; they keep trying to bring Jemma in on a project,” because their appearance hadn’t truly gone unnoticed.

Jemma looked at him with bright eyes and a soft, shy smile, hair curled wildly around her face, and Grant physically felt himself shift towards her. Thankfully – he would forever think that she saw him looking at Jemma and purposefully intervened – Natasha showed up, nodded and smiled at Jemma, and whisked Clint away.

“Bye, Jemma! I’ll see you later!” Clint said over his shoulder.

“We’ll get together and drink,” Jemma said, smiling widely.

Grant eyed his glass of champagne. “So you can drink Hawkeye under the table, huh?”

She flushed and Grant felt more tension drain out of his shoulders.

It seemed that the women had coordinated their dresses so that they only showed one major area of skin each. Skye had her back. May was showing off her legs. And Jemma, well…

 _The boob game is strong with this one,_ Grant thought. Then, _Goddammit, I really need to stop listening to Fitz and Skye when they’re drunk._

In his defense, it was true. Jemma’s breasts looked exceptional tonight. And the fact that she wore no jewelry was even better.

The cut of Jemma’s dress revealed most of her collarbone and chest, and her flush traveled slowly down. It was a dark purple dress that had the flowing sleeves that Skye couldn’t handle, and a long skirt that flowed and shifted easily when she moved. It was overlaid with lace that was intricate and dyed a slight shade darker than the rest of her dress. Though he couldn’t see her shoes, he knew that they were black and shorter than both May’s and Skye’s – it did nothing to bridge the gap between their heights. Grant couldn’t help the visceral thrill he had when she looked at him like that – warm and secretive, glittering with alcohol and happiness and she didn’t look at Steve Rogers like that – and he knew it showed on his face too. He had seen what he looked like when he looked at her and it was only a little ridiculous.

“Having fun, Grant?” Jemma asked, her voice lilting as she sipped at her champagne. “I certainly am, and so is Fitz. Tony and Bruce are fairly certain that I’ve solved a problem that’s been bugging them with the suit and, if I’m not mistaken, Fitz may have unlocked the secret for a working light saber. Do you know how long he’s been working on that? I cannot tell you how many times I’ve nearly lost my hair because of some freak accident.”

“Well that sounds exciting,” Grant said. “But I can one-up you.”

“Oh really? Can you Agent Ward?”

“I talked sports.”

She threw back her head and laughed and Grant grinned at her, ignoring the looks that were being thrown their way, ignoring the urge to pull her into his arms.

God it was really hard keeping this secret.

And Steve Roger’s arm was still around Jemma’s waist.

Christ. Steve was talking to another woman and Jemma was talking to him and _his arm was still around her freaking waist._

He dropped his glass on a passing waiter’s tray, holding out his hand. “Veux-tu danser?”

There was that grin.

“J’aimerais.”

She stepped towards him, taking his hand, and finally the Captain’s arm dropped from her waist. She too gave up her glass to a passing waiter as they walked through the now very not-crowded ballroom and to the now very not-full dance floor. The musicians, a full swing band complete with drums, strings, clarinets, trombones, saxophones, trumpets, and a piano, had moved onto a slow jazz song that was designed to pull people to the floor.  

She flowed into his arms easily, her arms coming up behind his neck. His hands settled on her waist, effortlessly spanning her hips and meeting at the small of her back. She was so tiny.

“Tu es belle.”

Jemma’s smile was wide but still shy and she turned her head to the side, avoiding his gaze.

“Ta robe est stupéfiante et elle paraîtrait mieux sur mon sol.”

He whispered the words in her ear, delighting in breathing the words across the sensitive skin of her neck. He took pride in the shiver that traveled up and down her body as she unconsciously arched closer to him, her steps slowing as he pulled her even closer.

Jemma hummed and pulled herself up, her nose brushing against his neck, jaw, cheek as she slowly turned her head so that they were eye to eye. His arms went around her waist, fully supporting her a few inches off of the floor, though her dress disguised it. She smiled, eyes hooded and dark and glittering, as she breathed across his lips, “You’re jealous.”

“What makes you think that?”

She bit her bottom lip and Grant groaned. She didn’t even bother to try and disguise her triumphant grin.

“You broke out the French. You only do that when you’re trying to seduce me.”

“Maybe I just wanted to hear you speak it. You sound so funny with that British accent.”

Jemma slapped his arm and Grant grinned. He slowly lowered her back to the ground. He refused to loosen his arms when she was steady though – she didn’t seem to mind, simply tucking herself closer.

“Plus, you never speak French to me unless we’re in a bedroom and we are not currently in a bedroom.”

“He had his arm around your waist the entire night.”

“Ah,” Jemma said. “I forgot he tends to do that.”

“Tends to do that?”

“I was there when he woke up, and to get him acclimated to the new century, we took him out to a bar – ”

Grant groaned, knowing what was coming. “And some guy hit on you?”

“Every time,” Jemma said, disgusted. “I don’t know what it is about me.”

“You’re belle.”

“Yes, I know, thank you. Anyways, so some sleazy guy is hitting on me and Steve, who’s been awake less than a week, comes up to him and says, ‘The lady said she didn’t want a drink,’ and cold cocks him right there in the bar. It happened the next two bars we went to, and eventually he just got in the habit of hovering. It saved him the effort of punching someone.”

Grant pursed his lips and Jemma leaned in closer, her lips brushing his. “Are you rethinking your ‘keep us dating a secret’ plan so that you can be the one punching creeps who don’t know how to listen when I, or any other woman, says no?”

Grant hummed. “I have enemies, Jem.”

She shifted as the shortening of her name and Grant couldn’t hide the smug grin. “I know.”

“Very dangerous enemies who would do a lot of very bad things to people I care about to get to me and the information I have.”

“I know.”

Grant smiled. “I’m rethinking who we can tell though.”

Jemma leaned back. “What! You mean we can tell someone!”

“You don’t do sarcasm well.”

“So you tell me, darling.” She bit her tongue and waggled her eyebrows. “I’m guessing Coulson and May already know.”

“You would be correct,” Grant said, looking over to them. Coulson waved and May gave him a flat look that he couldn’t decipher. Was she wishing them well? Telling him that she would hurt him if he hurt Jemma? She would hurt Jemma if she hurt him? He had no idea.

“I wonder how much attention we’ve brought on ourselves?”

“At this point, with that dress, I don’t care. Besides, there’s practically nobody here.”

They were one of five couples left on the dance floor. May and Coulson had joined Skye, and Fitz and the scientists were still going strong, though their numbers had greatly diminished. The Avengers had all dispersed, leaving Steve as the sole representative, and there were a handful of other groups scattered around the room talking. The music was the loudest thing the room.

Jemma looked around. “Wow, that cleared out earlier than I expected.”

“It’s nearly midnight.”

“Really? Time flies.”

“Can you dance in that dress?”

Jemma tilted her head. “I’m dancing now.”

“Actual dancing.”

She smiled slightly, confused. “Yeah, I can dance. The dress is a little long for it, but I can still dance. Why?”

“And you said you know how to swing, correct?”

“Grant.”

Grant made eye contact over her head with the upright bass player, the leader of the band, and nodded, ignoring the fact that he could simply look over Jemma’s head and even rest his chin on top of it, tucking her underneath and around him as easily as it was to breathe. Now was not the time.

Instantly the mood in the ballroom shifted as the trumpets, trombones, and saxes threw themselves into a lively melody, the drums joining them. Eyes turned as Grant spun Jemma away from him and back, dipping her low.

“I never did take you dancing in Paris.”

Jemma grinned. “So you decided to replace Paris with a ballroom in California?”

“Jem, you should know better. I’ll get you Paris soon enough.” He led them through the intricate footwork required of swing music.

“I love it when you call me Jem, darling.”

He pulled her close. “I know.”

“Everyone’s staring.”

“Like I said, at this point I don’t care.”

They danced until they were the only ones on the dance floor. They danced until they forced Skye and Fitz off to bed in their hotel rooms ten floors above them. They danced until the band gave last call and they were forced off. The wait staff and employees had long since started to take down the tables and chairs, leaving only the dance floor to be taken down.

Steve was the only one waiting up for them, and he stood on the edge of the dance floor as they came off of it, Jemma holding her shoes in her hand and her other arm behind his back. Grant pulled her closer to his side, his arm around her waist, his hand over her stomach absentmindedly tapping out a rhythm.

“Agent Ward,” Steve said, offering his hand. Grant gladly took it. “So, Jemma, how long had this been going on?”

Jemma grinned. “Couple of months. We haven’t told anybody.”

“Well you sure blew that out of the water tonight.”

Grant couldn’t contain the smug look that crossed his face as Steve shot him a glance. “Whoops,” he said dryly.

Steve chuckled and started out the door. “Good night you two. Make good choices.”

Jemma turned around into his arms, looking up at him. “We won’t,” she promised and Grant grinned.

Jemma’s back met the door soundly, closing it as Grant took her face in his hands and kissed her like had been wanting to do all night. Jemma moaned and pulled him closer, groaning as her dress impeded her leg from hitching over his hip.

“Grant,” she said. “Take me to bed.”

He ignored her, too focused on her hair and how it curled around his fingers. And her neck, sucking and nipping at the tendons that stood out in sharp relief as she threw her head back, panting, chest heaving, legs trembling as she tried to tangle them with his.

“Didn’t you mention something about my dress on the floor?”

His hand found the hidden zipper in seconds and Jemma didn’t even try to restrain the laugh, reaching up and untangling his bowtie. She appeared to take great pleasure in slowly unbuttoning his shirt, much to his protests. He knew she had an unrestrained fondness for his chest, and he usually tolerated it, but he hadn’t been able to kiss her all night. Usually, one of them snuck into the other’s bunk at night on the Bus, or they stole kisses throughout the day, but now, when she was right there.

It was taking too long becuase Jemma kept distracting him – good God her tongue was amazing – but he finally got that stunning dress off of her equally stunning, gorgeous body.

He ran his hand down her back, admiring her panties because she hadn’t been able to wear a bra with this dress, it was that low cut, and over her ass, gripping the back of her thighs. Smoothly she lept and wrapped her long legs around his hips.

“I was totally right by the way.” He pulled his belt off, with her assistance, and threw it across the room.

“Grant,” Jemma said as he tossed her on the bed. “I love you –”

“I love you too.”

Jemma’s smile was radiant. “But I really don’t care about anything right now except for the fact that you still have pants on.”

“Tell you in the morning?”

“Tell me in the morning.”  

Knocking, very loud, very rapid knocking, woke Grant the next morning. On his back with Jemma draped over top of him, sheets not needed when Jem was so warm, Grant was seriously contemplating not answering the door and just rolling over, taking Jemma with him, and going back to sleep.

“Grant! I can’t find Jemma!”

Skye’s voice was even louder than her knocking, though how Grant had no idea. It seemed impossible. He checked his watch and groaned, dropping his head back. The one day he actually wanted to sleep past eight am and he was being woken up at seven. Dancing until two in the morning and having passionate sex afterwards was exhausting.

“Just answer it,” Jemma said, slowly shifting off of him. She stretched, unashamed of her nakedness, knowing that Grant would be unabashedly looking, and settled, looking at him knowingly. “She’ll never stop.”

“She’s so gonna be running an extra ten miles for this.”

Jemma grinned, closing her eyes.

Grant threw on his pants from last night, sans belt, and answered the door barefoot. “What?”

“Have you seen Jemma? I went to her room and she wasn’t there. I figured since you seemed pretty cozy with her last night you might know where she is. And we really need to find her because Coulson got a call. Apparently we need to leave like now and –”

Skye froze, mouth open and eyes wide. Grant twisted his head and saw Jemma, wearing nothing but his dress shirt and showcasing those lovely legs of her, tossing open the drapes and starting the coffee pot that was doubling as a tea pot.

He hadn’t converted her yet to coffee.

It was okay. He had time.

“We’ll be down in twenty.”

He shut the door in her face and turned around to see Jemma contemplating her dress that was puddled on the floor, a mass of purple silk and lace, hands on her hips and hair a mess of hairspray, bed head, and the good old-fashioned “I’ve just been fucked” look.

“You’re right. It does look better on your floor.”

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first time writing for the AOS fandom, and this is my first time writing any of these characters. Please let me know what you think, especially with the characterization, as I plan to continue writing and prefer my characters in-character in my fanfiction. 
> 
> Translations: 
> 
> Veux-tu danser? (Do you want to dance?)  
> J'aimerais. (I would love to.)  
> Tu es belle. (You're beautiful.)  
> Ta robe est stupéfiante et elle paraîtrait mieux sur mon sol. (Your dress is stunning and it would look better on my floor.)


End file.
